


Mounts and Rides Away

by derryderrydown



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-17
Updated: 2009-11-17
Packaged: 2017-10-03 04:15:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/derryderrydown/pseuds/derryderrydown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once, John tried to give Dean a home. (Aka, John and Dean are cowboys, yo. And it's not AU.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mounts and Rides Away

John hadn't meant to be gone so long. It had been a routine trip to Jim Murphy's to check on the news and see if he'd heard from Sammy. It wasn't meant to turn into a hunt but there'd been a bitch of a ghost in a town he passed through on his way back and, next thing, he'd been gone three weeks.

He parked his car next to the rusting Ford pick-up Jerry used on the ranch and, duffle on his shoulder, walked over to the ranch-hand leaning on the corral fence. "Hey, you seen-" Dean Winchester, he'd been on the verge of saying. But the ranch-hand looked round and straightened, broad smile on his face, and it was Dean.

"Dad!" John was too aware of the weight and strength of Dean's hand on his shoulder. "Man, I thought you were never going to get back."

Dean was tanned, glowing with health, and the lines and shadows of fatigue were gone from his face. "Ran into something that needed killing," John said. He dropped the duffle at his feet and joined Dean in leaning on the fence, watching the action in the corral. "What's going on?"

"Jerry's breaking the new filly. Making a start on it, anyway."

The filly cantered past, tail and head up, bright sorrel hide gleaming and dirt scattering under her hooves, always moving just ahead of the rope Jerry flicked at her quarters. Jerry changed the angle of the rope, sent the filly in the opposite direction and his movements were even more compact, more precise, than they had been in Nam. "You've settled in well," John said.

He glanced over in time to see Dean narrow his eyes and nod, considering it. "Easy life here. Makes a nice break." He looked over and caught John's eye. "Just a break, though, right? We'll be back on the road now?"

"Give your old man a chance to get his rest," John said and left it at that.

Dean was watching Jerry and the filly and it gave John a chance to watch Dean. His jeans were faded and worn, denim looking soft to the touch, and the chaps he wore over them hadn't been new for five years at least. He was wearing just a black t-shirt on top but a plaid shirt hung from a nearby fencepost, and John gave in to temptation, rested his hand on Dean's lower back. He could feel the heat of Dean's skin through the thin fabric, feel the solid muscle, and Dean turned to him and smiled, shifted so John's fingers were grazing the waistband of his jeans.

Three weeks was a long time.

And then the rhythmic thud of the filly's hooves stopped and John jerked his attention back to the corral. Jerry had coiled the rope, was walking away from the filly, and the filly was following him, nosing at his shoulder and snorting hard enough to muss his hair. Jerry ignored her and headed over to John.

Jerry's hair was mostly grey now but he was still as lean as he'd ever been and the deep lines around his eyes and mouth didn't do much to change him from the kid John had known back in the jungle. "Hey, corp," Jerry said. His grip was firm as he shook John's hand, sympathy unspoken but there in his eyes.

"Show some respect, Marine," John said but his voice was lazy and he was smiling. "How's my boy working out?" He could see Dean rolling his eyes.

"Good kid. Got some natural talent." Jerry tilted his head and the lines around his eyes deepened as he smiled. "Course, like you always used to say, talent's not enough."

Dean straightened a little, paying attention. "You got that lecture too, huh?" he said.

"Every day." Jerry took a headcollar from the fencepost and passed it to Dean. "Here, take her into the barn and give her a rub down, will you? I need a word with your dad."

There was a moment when Dean glanced between the two of them, then he swung over the fence without a word, buckled the headcollar over the filly's head and led her away. She turned back to Jerry and whickered briefly but seemed happy enough to follow.

Jerry ducked under the fence and picked up John's duffle. "Bunkhouse is down this way," he said and started along a dirt track. "You two've got a room to yourselves. Thought it was best."

There was something hovering behind Jerry's words. "Spit it out," John said.

Jerry sighed. "I didn't ask you much when you showed up here. You helped me out, I want to return the favour. But I've seen that kid of yours, John."

John kept his face expressionless. "What do you mean?"

"He's had it rough," Jerry said bluntly. "No kid his age should have that many scars. And they aren't all old. What's going on?"

And damn it, John didn't want to have to lie. But he sure as hell couldn't tell Jerry the truth and he'd always known the man would want an explanation. "I was a shit father," John said. "I let him fall in with a bad crowd, get in over his head." And that much wasn't far from the truth. "He owes money and the people he owes it to..." He shook his head. "You know the type. We had to get out of town, get far away." He met Jerry's gaze. "It's not permanent, and we'll both work for our keep."

"If he carries on as good as he has been, he's welcome to make it permanent." Jerry resettled the duffle. "I thought it might be something like that but he wouldn't tell me anything."

"No." John let himself smile wryly. "Dean's good at keeping things under wraps. How do you think it got so bad?"

"I can believe it," Jerry said, and handed the duffle back to John, nodded towards the basic bungalow in front of them. "Dean's in the second room on the left. Kitchen's the first on the left. I've let Dean know he's always welcome up at the house but he's been fending for himself or heading into town."

"Let me guess," John said. "There's a bar in town. With girls."

Jerry's smile was genuine. "There sure is. Guess he takes after his old man, then?"

"More ways than you know," John said. "Thanks, Jerry."

"No sweat, corp."

John watched Jerry go, then headed into the bunkhouse. The hallway was spartan - linoleum on the floor, walls painted beige - and spotlessly clean. Ducking into the kitchen showed more of the same. Fridge, kettle, microwave - all the essentials for a house of bachelors. He glanced in the fridge and wasn't surprised to see beer, cold pizza and not much else.

Dean's room was shockingly lived in after that. Two sets of bunk beds, one on each side of the room, window in between and a couple of plastic chairs scattered round. Dean's duffle was on the lower right-hand bunk, along with a couple of dirty t-shirts, a pair of jeans and three socks. The upper bunk showed signs of being slept in and John grinned. Dean and Sam always had fought for the top bunk.

He tossed his own bag onto the bottom left bunk and started looking for the shower.

When he got back, still dripping water and with a towel round his waist, Dean was lying on his back on John's bunk. His arms were behind his head, feet resting on John's bag, and he grinned as John came in. "Jerry told me to get you kitted out and sort out a horse for you. He wants us to head down to the south valley and run an eye over the Shorthorn herd."

"Sure." John moved to push Dean's feet off his bag and wasn't entirely surprised when Dean resisted. "Dean," he warned, voice low.

"Been three weeks, Dad," Dean said, and his voice was rough enough to make John take a deep breath.

"Not now," he said, sharper than he intended. "We've got work to do."

A long moment of silence, then Dean swung his feet off John's bag and sat upright. "I'll be in the barn," he said, and let the door shut a little too hard behind him.

* * *

John's borrowed chaps were stiff and his hat a little too large but his buckskin mare moved easily under him, the hills stretched out green and brown as far as he could see and Dean's horse was skittering alongside. It was a nice illusion of a normal life.

"Knew I shouldn't have ridden this bastard," Dean said, as his horse shied at a clump of tall grass.

"Then why did you?" John felt a little complacent as Bessy stayed resolutely on her own course, despite the pinto bouncing off her quarters.

Dean didn't answer. "I'm gonna give him a run, take the edge off. Holler if you need me." Then, with a thudding of hooves, he was gone.

Bessy let out a heavy sigh and John leaned forward to straighten her mane. "Kids, huh?" Bessy's ears twitched. "They'll grow up soon enough." Bessy plodded on, oblivious, and John settled back into the saddle.

It was a half-hour or so before Dean cantered back. "He's settled down some," Dean said, circling round to come up alongside Bessy. "But there's a reason he's called Old Harry."

John looked at the pinto, who rolled his eyes and tossed his head. "Think I'll stick with Bessy," he said.

"C'mon," Dean said. "The herd's down here."

* * *

Jerry met them coming back. He raised an eyebrow at Dean. "How many times did Harry get you off?"

"None." Dean patted the horse's sweaty neck, moving easily with him as he swung to the side.

"Musta put glue on the saddle, then," Jerry said. "How's the herd?"

Dean shrugged. "No problems. But the creek's going to be dry enough to cause trouble in a week or so, if we don't get rain."

"Forecast says there should be heavy rain in a few days." Jerry looked up at the sky, solid blue above them. "Can't see it myself but we'll give it till Thursday before we shift them." He nodded towards the barn. "Go and get Harry settled."

"He seems to know his stuff," John said, watching Dean go.

"He learns quick. Never knows when to stop, though."

John looked over at Jerry and raised his eyebrows in a silent question.

"That horse. I'd have had him shot by now if he weren't so sharp with cattle. Dean heard he was a vicious bastard and, next thing I know, he's on board him. Came off about six times in the first half-hour but now..." Jerry let out a breath of laughter. "Horse is no better than he was but Dean's staying put. I didn't want to say anything to Dean without checking with you first but I'm hosting a rodeo next weekend. Dean could do worse than enter for the bareback broncs. It's just local but if you're trying to keep a low profile..."

"How local?" John asked.

"Doubt we'll get anyone from outside the county," Jerry said. "Fourth of July weekend - every town with two cows to rub together is having a rodeo."

John shifted in the saddle as he thought about. "Hell, let the kid have a bit of glory if he wants it."

"Or fall on his ass," Jerry said.

"I know my boy," John said. "If he wants to win, he'll win."

* * *

By the time Thursday rolled around, John had met the other ranch-hands, drunk most of them under the table and established his reputation as a man deserving respect. Even if he stuck stolidly to Bessy and could only rope a cow one time in three, he'd shot a coyote from a distance that caused raised eyebrows and his one bar brawl had left the other guy bleeding into the dirt.

That night, Dean had tried to slip into John's bunk. There'd been beer on his breath and his mouth on John's had been warm and familiar and tempting and John had found it hard to push him away. Harder still when Dean had looked down at him, confused. "What's changed?" Dean had asked and the only reply John could find was, "Not now. Not here."

And he'd been almost disappointed when Dean accepted that.

Thursday morning dawned bright and clear and the barn was oddly empty as John groomed Bessy. He was reaching under her belly when he heard Jerry shouting his name. "Over here," he called back, and stepped out the way of Bessy's cowkick as he went too softly over a ticklish spot.

Jerry slapped her rump as he came round behind her. "Hey, corp. Need you and Dean to shift the Shorthorns for me."

"Sure. Where?"

Jerry cleared his throat. "Up by Three Forks Ridge."

It took John a moment to work out the route. "It's a long way," he finally said.

"Day up, half a day back," Jerry agreed. "And you'll need to check the fences before you leave them."

"There a reason for this?" John asked. "For sending me and Dean?" _Is there trouble?_ he didn't ask.

"The only reason I'm sending you two is because I've _got_ no-one else." Jerry shrugged. "The main herd - the Herefords - has gotten tangled up with Billings'. Dean could hold his own in sorting them out again but..." He shook his head, grinning ruefully. "Hate to say it, corp, but you ain't one of nature's cowboys."

"Can't argue that," John said with an answering grin.

"Trust me, I don't want to screw the rodeo for Dean. But there's still no sign of rain and those cattle need pasture."

"Dean's been on overnight jobs before?" John asked.

"Sure."

John nodded. "Then I'll let him get the kit together."

Jerry turned to go, then stopped. "What I said the other day, about Dean being welcome to stay here? I meant it. The money's not great but, hell, I've got no kids to leave this place to and someone's gotta have it. We ain't crime-free but he won't get into any real trouble here. He'll be safe."

"Safe," John said slowly, and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "Let me think on it."

* * *

John rode at the rear of the herd, bandana over his mouth and nose so he didn't breathe in the dirt they kicked up. Dean was up ahead on the left, keeping an eye on the cattle and working the dogs. John's only responsibility was to chivvy on the beasts that wanted to lag behind and Bessy could do that without him interfering.

It was mid-afternoon when Dean wheeled Harry round and jogged back towards John. "Almost there. I give it another half-hour."

"About time," John said and then they crested a rise and John reined Bessy to a halt. The shallow valley spread out in front of them, grass startlingly green against the vivid blue sky, and John felt the familiar tug of longing for Mary to have seen this, to have smelled the air. Finally, he said, "That's something."

"Yeah," Dean said. "Grass is always good up here, no matter how dry it gets on the rest of the ranch." He shifted in the saddle. "Pretty cool."

John glanced sideways at him, expecting Dean's expression to give the lie to the seriousness of his voice but he was gazing out over the valley with possessive approval and John frowned as he turned his attention back to the cattle. "C'mon. Dawdling won't get 'em there.

* * *

The sun was still well above the horizon by the time they had the cattle settled and camp ready. John sat with his feet near the fire, tin mug of coffee in his hands, and tried not to think about how completely at home Dean looked.

"Reckon we check the fences tomorrow," John finally said, "then go down in the afternoon." He looked over at Dean. "Get you back in plenty of time for your rodeo."

Dean shrugged. "It's just a rodeo. The job's more important."

But John could see the way his eyes sharpened at the thought of it and wondered if this was new or if he'd always missed that Dean might have interests outside of hunting. "Might as well make a start on the fences tonight," he said. "Get down a bit earlier."

"Sure." Dean drained his mug and stood up, reached down to haul John to his feet. "Can't do any harm."

The horses were already hobbled and it was too late to reseat any fenceposts so they went on foot and carried just enough tools and wire to repair any obvious gaps.

They'd gone a half-mile or so before finding a spot where the wire had rusted through, leaving strands loose on the ground to injure unwary cattle. John waited until Dean was occupied with unfastening the wire before saying, "Do you like it here?"

Dean looked up, movement quick enough for the wire to spring out of his grip and scrape across the back of his hand. "Shit," Dean said and sucked the scratch. After a moment, he took his hand away and said, "It's not bad. As a break."

John didn't say anything, just took the wire from Dean and started coiling it up.

"It's not real life, though. Right?" Dean said.

"Have you got the strainers?" John asked. "We'll need them to redo this."

There was a long moment when Dean didn't move.

"Dean. Strainers."

"They're back at the camp," Dean said, and his voice was distant.

John tested the strength of the stock netting. "That'll be enough to keep them in for now but we'll need to clear up the rest of the wire."

"This isn't my life, Dad," Dean said. "I need to be out on the road. _Hunting._ Doing our _jobs._"

John shut his eyes for a moment and breathed in. "Right now, this is our job," he said sharply. "So do it."

A pause of silent mutiny, and eventually Dean said, "Yes, sir."

They worked without talking for an hour, clearing out broken wire and putting in temporary patches when necessary. John was just stretching the aches out of his back when the first drop of rain landed on his face. He blinked, startled, then looked up.

"Oh, shit," Dean said, and John echoed the thought. The sky was dark with clouds and the drops of rain were already coming thicker and heavier. "Run for it?"

"Hell, yes," John said, and he hadn't gone two strides before Dean was alongside him; two more and Dean was ahead of him and John just watched him run.

* * *

"Jesus," Dean gasped, bursting into the tent with John close on his heels. He shook his head, sending water spraying over everything, and John tossed him a blanket. Dean grinned before roughly towelling off his hair and handing the blanket back. "Shit, it's cold."

John rubbed at his face and hair with the blanket. "Strip," he said, and Dean looked up quickly, the corner of his mouth lifted in an almost-smile. "Stay in wet clothes and you'll just get colder," John added in explanation but Dean looked away, smile growing slightly.

"Yeah," he said and started fumbling at his shirt. John did the same, fingers too numb to get a decent grip. He finally gave up and just pulled it and his t-shirt over his head. His jeans were tougher, denim too stiff and cold to undo easily, and it was a relief when Dean's hands closed over his. "Here," Dean said, and unfastened the button, yanked down the zip.

John managed to look away from Dean's hands and found Dean watching his face. They held still for a long moment, then Dean smiled and moved away and John was able to breathe again.

"C'mon, Dad," Dean said, teasing. "Strip."

John closed his eyes and lifted up enough to shove his jeans down over his hips, then kicked them off, along with his boots. "We've got to zip the sleeping bags together," he said, and hoped it sounded more normal to Dean than it did to himself. "Share the warmth."

"Sure," Dean said easily, and John fumbled the bags together, managed to get them zipped up, then crawled inside.

The bags were damp and chilly but they were already warming from his body. "Hurry up," he started to say, but then he looked up and Dean was shucking his boxers.

"You said strip," Dean said, and slid inside the bags.

It was automatic to wrap his arms around Dean, rub at his clammy skin until it started to warm under his hands. Dean wormed closer to him, tangled his feet with John's, his breath warm against John's collarbone, his hands on John's back, and it was hard not to lose himself in the feeling of flesh against flesh.

And then Dean kissed him.

John jerked his head back. "Dean," he said, voice filled with all the warning he could muster. It was undercut by the fact that he hadn't loosened his hold on Dean.

"C'_mon_, Dad," Dean said. "I _want_-" He rocked against John and John wished he could shove him away, deny his own physical reactions.

"Dean, not-"

"You said, not _there_, not _then_," Dean said. "It's just us now. Nobody for miles."

"We can't keep doing this." It was weak and he knew it.

"You were gone three weeks, Dad." Dean spoke into John's neck, voice muffled but still desperate. "I _missed_ you. I missed _this_."

Oh, god. And John rolled Dean onto his back and kissed him, anything to shut him up, stop him _saying_ the things that shouldn't be said, _mustn't_ be said.

A warm, satisfied noise from Dean and his legs opened, cradling John. The sleeping bags were too small for much more and John was thankful for that as he ground against Dean, tried not to enjoy it, tried to just get Dean off and then leave it, _leave it_. Dean's hands on his ass, pulling him in harder, and he couldn't fight it, couldn't stop the orgasm that rushed through him and left him heavy and sated.

He let his head drop, face nestled in the crook of Dean's shoulder, and breathed in.

"Dad," Dean said, hand in John's hair. "I still-" His voice was hoarse and he moved a little, cock still hard against John's belly, catching at the waistband of John's boxers. "I-"

Oh, god. John wriggled round in the bags, managed to get his hand between them, get it on Dean's cock. Fast, rough, nothing fancy, just getting Dean the hell off.

And Dean didn't need much; bucked up into John's grip, hand tightened in John's hair, and with a half-gasped, "Dad!" he came over John's hand.

* * *

John woke early, the tent's sides just starting to glow with sunlight. Dean was still wrapped around him, face squashed against John's chest, and John could hardly move without waking him. Damn octopus, he thought, and rested his chin on Dean's hair. Dean's response was to mumble something and press closer.

God, he'd missed his boy. He closed his eyes and breathed in air warmed by their bodies and scented with sex. And he was going to miss him more because this...

It wasn't what he'd wanted for his boys. Wasn't what he'd planned. And it would be too easy to be selfish; to keep his boy; keep _this_. Hold on too damn tight to everything he had left, no matter how broken and wrong it was.

But Dean deserved better. Deserved a home and a life away from the horrors, like Sammy had made for himself.

And it was up to John to make sure Dean got what he deserved.

"Hey." He nudged Dean. "Time to get up. Work to do."

Dean mumbled something, squirmed still closer to John, and his cock was hard against John's thigh.

John would have jumped away but there wasn't enough space in the sleeping bags. Instead, he unzipped the bags, movements deliberately rough and quick, and the air was freezing against his skin. "Work," he repeated, and tried to stand up.

Dean didn't move. Kept his arms wrapped round John, kept him pinned down.

"Dean," John said, and tried to make it harsh, commanding.

"Dad," Dean said, and kissed the side of John's neck.

It was too much like last night; like so many nights on the road. Cheap motels, cheap beds, the only familiar things the car and each other and Dean's hands on him, his hands on Dean. The boy coming apart under him, bones and flesh and scars that John had stitched together and torn apart all over again.

And he saw so much of himself in Dean that he had to wonder if this-

Goodbye. It was a goodbye and Dean would know that.

Not right now but a few days down the road, he'd realise.

Just. Just saying goodbye.

They never had relied on words.

* * *

They finally made it back down to the ranch at dusk. John was still settling Bessy for the night, watched by Dean, when Jerry wandered into the barn, yawning and scratching his chin.

"Starting to think you weren't gonna make it in time," he said. "Didn't know the fences up there were so bad."

"They weren't," John said, before Dean could answer. "I'm just out of practice. More hindrance than help." He shrugged. "Besides, me and my boy had a lot to catch up on. Decisions to make."

"Yeah?" Jerry's gaze flickered between them. "What did you decide?"

"We decided it's late," John said. "And we're going to get some shut-eye."

Jerry nodded sharply. "Sounds fair."

* * *

Their room wasn't their room any more. John's bag had been tossed onto the top bunk and the bottom bunk had somebody else's sleeping bag on it. The clothes Dean had left on his bottom bunk were dumped on the floor, somebody else's underwear on top of them.

Dean pulled a face and kicked the boxers away, then balled up his own clothes and shoved them into his bag. "Andy and Chuck won't be back till late," he offered but John shook his head.

"Not here." He shrugged. "And you need a good night's sleep. Rodeo in the morning." He clapped Dean on the back, pulled his hand away too quickly. "You need to keep up the honour of the Winchester name."

Dean was asleep quickly, lying on his belly with his hand under his pillow. John lay awake, listening to his even, shallow breaths, until Andy and Chuck staggered in with noisy attempts at silence.

Finally, to the noise of their snoring, he rolled to face the wall and slept.

* * *

The sun was almost too bright to see but John had got himself wedged in tight where he could get a good look at the horse in the chute and the corral itself. This horse was a grubby brown with splashes of white up its short legs and over its belly, ears pinned flat back and eyes rolling.

He was glad it wasn't Dean's.

The clash of the chute being released and the horse was out, frightening in its viciousness, and the seconds going by too slowly. It felt like an hour until the rider let go of the rigging handle and hit the ground, rolling to absorb the impact, but the groans around John let him know it was less than the mandatory eight seconds. The rider slowly stood up and dusted himself down, raised a hand to the crowd and trudged out of the corral.

And then John looked up and Dean was perched on the top rail of the bucking chute, grinning over his shoulder at somebody.

There was a pinto in the chute, near solid white but for the black patch over its ears and another on its chest, small but with muscles standing out at shoulders and haunches, and John wondered if it was too late to take his son and get the hell out of Dodge.

But Dean was easing himself onto the horse, settling his grip on the handle. The horse's head was up, whites of its eyes showing all round, and Dean was laughing.

Then his hand was in the air, he nodded, and the horse exploded out of the chute.

Dean was leaning well back, knees high and toes turned out, and John wanted to yell at him to stop driving the horse on, to sit deep and straight and calm the animal, but there were calls of approval coming from the crowd round him and it was all John could do to keep breathing.

Another leap and Dean was still aboard, hand raised high and practically lying on the horse's back as it came down. Another and another and another and it had to have been eight seconds by now but Dean was still digging his spurs in, encouraging the horse to leap higher and harder and it was responding.

And then, between one buck and the next, Dean was gone, and it was an age before it sank in that the crowd was still cheering and Dean was standing up, was still grinning, and the eight seconds was up.

He slowly relaxed his hands from their death grip on the fence. Splinters were buried deep under his skin but he'd deal with them later. First, his son.

His heart was still pounding as he pushed his way through the crowd. Dean had faced worse, he told himself. What was a horse compared to an angry ghost? He'd sent Dean out after plenty of those without this desperation. But he'd trained Dean for that; he'd known just how good Dean was and just how much he could depend on him.

This was too distant from anything John knew.

And when he saw Dean leaning against the fence, still covered in dirt but smiling with lazy heat at the three girls clustered round him, it was just confirmation of everything he'd already decided.

* * *

John was in the bunkhouse, throwing his clothes into his bag, when Jerry found him.

"I was going to ask if you were coming to the barbecue," Jerry said, "but I'm guessing the answer's no."

"I can't stay," John said. He didn't look up. "I've got places I need to be."

"Dean?"

John took a deep breath. "I'm leaving him here."

"When are you going to tell him?"

"I'll leave him a note. It's." He finally looked up and forced a grimace that might be taken for a smile. "I try to tell him in person and I'll end up taking him with me. And he's better here. Safer."

"He won the rodeo, you know." There was accusation on Jerry's face and John turned back to his packing.

"I knew he would."

"Tell him, corp." Jerry sounded weary. "Just tell him you love him and stop making him dance for your damn approval. He's not one of your Marines."

John looked up sharply. "I don't need to spell it out for him. My boy's sharp." _My boy._ A sudden stab of pain at the thought of being separated from him, but Dean could take care of himself and he _deserved_ this; deserved his chance at a normal life.

Jerry sighed. "He might not need it, John, but do it anyway." He headed for the door but paused to look back and say, "Even if you can only do it on paper."

* * *

_Dean,_

I need you to stay here for a while, maybe a year or so. I'll be back through every few months.

This should be enough cash to pick you up a car. Won't be a good one but won't do you any harm to work on it a bit.

Don't break any bones playing at rodeo.

Dad

* * *

John was nearly off Jerry's property when he saw the dust trail rising behind him. He couldn't push the car any harder, not on the dirt track, and he watched the dust getting closer with grim resignation. Finally, Harry shot past him, nearly stumbled as Dean wrenched him round in front of the car, and John had no choice but to stop.

"You don't get to do that!" Dean yelled before John was even out of the car. "You don't get to run out on me!"

John hadn't felt so old since Sammy left. He rested one hand on Harry's reins but Dean jerked the horse backwards. "Dean, I just-"

"NO." Dean's eyes were as wild as the horse's and there was dust plastered over his face and hair, turned nearly to mud by his sweat. "You need me _with_ you, Dad. You need me to watch your back and-" He wiped at his mouth, spat dust. "You don't get to walk out. You don't get to leave me behind."

With the ease of practice, John shoved his feelings deep down and stood up straight. "Get off the damn horse, Dean."

For a long moment, Dean sat there, then he swung off Harry's back. "I can get him moving faster than you can get the car going," he said. "You can't outrun me."

"I don't need to outrun you," John said. "I'm giving you an order. You stay here, you work hard for Jerry and I'll see you in a couple of months."

"No." There was no heat to it, just a simple statement of fact. And then Dean was right in his space and John couldn't back away, couldn't back down. "I'm not letting you walk out on me, too."

He could smell Dean. Sweat and leather and sun and dirt and it made his heart beat harder.

"Tell me you'll hunt better without me. Make me believe it." And Dean was holding it together but John could see the desperation.

"I've given you an order," he said but it sounded weak even to him.

"Make me _believe_ it. Go on."

And John didn't mean to but he took a step backwards.

"What's this _about_, Dad? Why now? What have I done _wrong?_"

Dean stepped forward and John turned away, rested his hands on the car's hood. "You've done nothing wrong," he said quietly

"Then _why-_" Dean stopped short and when he spoke again, his voice was quiet. "Why, Dad?"

Sam fought for his normal life, John didn't say. You deserve it just as much as him but you'll never even ask for it. "You like it here," he finally said. "You fit."

"I fit with _you_," Dean said, and he was so close that John could feel his breath on his cheek. "You can't leave me on my own."

And John knew he should have realised. He'd raised his boys to trust nobody outside the family and, of course, the lesson had stuck with Dean where it hadn't with Sam. And when he turned to look at Dean, to rest his hand on his shoulder, he didn't mean anything more than reassurance. But when Dean pushed in close, body tense with confusion, it was the only comfort he could think of.

Dean's mouth against his, hungry and desperate; Dean's hands sliding to the back of his neck, holding him; Dean's thigh pressing between his. "Don't leave me," Dean whispered.

John took a deep breath. "Better pack your stuff, then," he said.


End file.
